


Tour Shower

by Aibakaneesh



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: M/M, tour drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aibakaneesh/pseuds/Aibakaneesh
Summary: Tamamori is exhausted on tour, Miyata's there to help. Fujigaya has some wise words, too.





	Tour Shower

**Author's Note:**

> Just some garbage fluff I wrote

 

            Miyata throws open the door to the venue shower and stops short. Tamamori is bent over in half, arms hugging behind his knees. A lewd joke is forming on his tongue, but then he hears every vertebra in Tamamori’s spine pop as he straightens back up in fright. He looks so tired and miserable that he even considers backing out of the shower stall entirely to give him some time alone.

            “Please tell me there’s no camera coming in,” Tamamori pleads.

            “There isn’t. They’re chasing Kitamitsu on his jog.”

            “Then get in here already. You’re letting the cold air in.”

            Miyata stumbles in and shuts the door. He ducks his hair under the spray, watching Tamamori space out beside him. Tamamori suddenly looks up, making Miyata jump.

            “Don't tell me you want to have shower sex,” Tamamori says, suspiciously.

            “No,” he answers honestly. “I’m so tired I don’t even think I could get it up.” It’s a joke, but he’s almost certain it’s also the truth.

            “Mmm,” Tamamori agrees, closing his eyes and rocking back on his heels. “This has been a long tour, huh?”

            “I almost forgot how big domes are. After Coliseum last year.” Miyata reaches out and takes some of Tamamori’s shampoo. He’s not sure if Tamamori has even gotten that far. His hair is almost dry except where the steam has curled the ends. “Are you alright?”

            “Tired,” Tamamori sighs. He scrubs at his eyes and takes the shower head from Miyata, as though determined to catch up. “My back hurts. I can’t even stretch it out.”

            “Want me to rub it?” Miyata offers. He takes the shower head back and rinses out his hair.

            “Go ahead,” Tamamori says. He turns around and rests his forehead on the tile.

            “Not now,” Miyata says. “Finish up and I’ll give you a massage in the dressing room. You can take a nap on the couch.”

            Tamamori whines a little, but agrees when Miyata squeezes his shoulders a few times, testing out the tension. Miyata takes the bar of soap off the ledge and rubs at Tamamori’s back and arms, hurrying him along. Tamamori finally gives in and washes the rest of himself lazily while Miyata finishes up. Miyata turns off the water and makes to open the door, but Tamamori grabs his elbow.

            “I can’t believe you took a whole shower with me and didn’t even try to kiss me once. I thought you loved me.”

            Miyata laughs, loud, and spins around to push Tamamori against the wall. “I thought you were too tired.”

            “Never too tired to kiss,” Tamamori murmurs, closing the space between them. Miyata shifts the angle, pushing Tamamori back until Tamamori puts his arms around Miyata’s shoulders and drops his weight. Despite his words, Tamamori’s lips are lazy and tired against his, pulling the kiss along at a leisurely pace. Miyata finally pulls back when he feels Tamamori weighing down more and more on his shoulders.

            “Don’t fall asleep in the shower, idiot,” Miyata scolds, opening the door for real and snatching their towels off the hook.

            “You’re the idiot,” Tamamori accuses, petulant. He dries himself off and dresses in his tour shirt before leading the way back to the dressing room.

            Senga is the only one in the dressing room and it’s not hard to bully him from the couch. He takes one look at Tamamori and vacates for the vanity instead. Tamamori falls face-first onto the couch stretches out.

            “Sen-chan, do you have lotion?”

            “Yeah,” he answers, digging around the mess on the vanity. “Do you mind citrus scent?”

            “As long as it’s not that glitter shit,” Tamamori mumbles into the upholstery. “My shower is still sparkly.”

            Miyata laughs because his is, too, and he’s happy to hear Tamamori trying to be chipper.

            “Here,” Miyata says quietly, nudging Tamamori over to the side a bit more so he can sit on the edge of the couch. “Where’s it hurt?”

            “Everywhere,” Tamamori groans, stretching more.

            “M’kay.” Miyata gets a palmful of lotion and begins spreading it over Tamamori’s shoulders, working it into the skin while feeling for tension spots. He finds one knot just under Tamamori’s shoulder blade and he begins to knead it.

            Tamamori makes a miserable sound and squirms.

            “Too hard?”

            “Not hard enough.”

            They both ignore Senga’s snickers and Miyata presses more firmly, wincing when he feels the knot pop under his thumbs. He works his way down Tamamori’s spine, stopping above the waistband of his underwear when Tamamori sucks in a breath and then moans.

            “Is that a cue to leave?” Senga asks, not looking up from his phone.

            “No,” Miyata answers, digging his thumbs into the soft parts of Tamamori’s love handles. Or where he _should_ have love handles. “You’re getting too skinny again.”

            “Can’t help it.”

            “Watch it,” Miyata advises. “Don’t get sick again.”

            The door opens, and Miyata looks up to see the Making crew filing in. Before the cameraman can even get a shot in focus, Senga stands up and walks right up to them.

            “Nikaido is in the shower!” he tempts. “We haven’t gotten that yet on this tour.”

            Miyata thanks Senga quietly and goes back to working on Tamamori. He’s not surprised when Tamamori falls asleep a few minutes later. It’s a fitful sleep, his limbs twitching with exhaustion, but it’s at least some sort of rest. Miyata scoots around to be able to rub Tamamori’s arms, rolling the muscle between his palms.

            “Feels good,” Tamamori whispers from his doze. “Thanks.”

            “Roll over a second,” Miyata says quietly, grabbing his hips and helping him over. “I’ll do your legs.”

            “No!” Tamamori yelps, opening his eyes and curling his legs up and away from Miyata, who has sat at the end of the couch. “They hurt too much, don’t touch them!”

            “Gimmie ‘em,” Miyata orders, yanking one out by the ankle. “It’s because you didn’t stretch well enough before practice this morning.”

            “I stretched _fine_!”

            Tamamori whimpers when Miyata rolls up the leg of his sweat pants and begins with his ankle. He frowns at how swollen it is and reminds himself to make Tamamori ice it later. Tamamori squirms and whines as Miyata makes his way up his leg. His thigh muscles are quivering with exhaustion and Tamamori tears up when Miyata finally gets to rubbing them for real.

            “You’re okay,” Miyata assures. “It’ll feel better.”

            Tamamori shakes his head pathetically. It takes ages to get Tamamori relaxed again, his legs too painful, but he does manage it. He rolls Tamamori back over and works on his shoulders and lower back again until he conks out again.

            Somewhere along the way, Fujigaya had wandered in and taken up residence at the foot of the couch, Tamamori’s feet in his lap.

            “Someone should give you a massage,” Fujigaya says, not looking up from his texts. “You deserve one, too.”

            “Maybe I’ll go somewhere this week. Know anywhere good?”

            “I’ll rub your shoulders in a minute. You fell again during practice.”

            Miyata winces, old memories of being fourteen and holding back tears while Fujigaya and Yokoo scream at him for being clumsy washing over him. It’s been years, but he’s still self-conscious about things like that.

            “Didn’t mean to,” he apologizes.

            “I mean, you fell on your bad shoulder again, didn’t you? The one you broke?”

            “I guess.”

            Fujigaya stands up and takes off his hat. He drops it on the table along with his phone and comes to stand behind Miyata.

            “Sit back,” he orders, pulling at him. “Relax a little, damn.”

            Miyata can’t help but be tense with Fujigaya’s attention on him. He doesn’t do well with anyone’s attention on him when they’re being serious. He’s too exhausted and flustered to think of a good joke, though.

            “You don’t always have to be like that, you know? You can be a little selfish, too.”

            “Huh?”

            “You do everything for him, make him do something back.”

            “It’s not like that,” he insists, looking down at Tamamori jerk through another half-dream. “Tours are hard for him.”

            “They’re hard for all of us.” Fujigaya digs his thumb painfully into Miyata’s shoulder. “You should take a nap, too. I know you were up all night practicing that choreography you messed up yesterday.”

            Miyata feels his face and neck heat up and hopes Fujigaya doesn’t feel it through his t-shirt.

            “Take a nap. I’ll run interference with the camera crew.” Fujigaya rubs at his shoulders for a few more minutes before taking back up his phone and wandering out the door. Miyata sighs and leans his head back and closes his eyes. Just like that, he’s almost asleep.

            “Idiot,” Tamamori murmurs, struggling up to his hands and knees. “Lay down if you’re going to sleep.”

            “You’re taking up the whole couch,” Miyata points out, not bothering to open his eyes. He feels Tamamori pull at him and doesn’t resist. He ends up on his back with Tamamori spread across his chest. “I take back what I said about you getting too skinny. You’re heavy.”

            “Shut up,” Tamamori snorts. He digs his nose into Miyata’s collarbone and goes limp in seconds. Miyata stays awake only long enough to nestle down closer, resting his lips against Tamamori’s forehead.           


End file.
